Free To Cut a Long Story Short (2000) by Jeffrey Archer Page B

month.’
    ‘Congratulations,’ said Cornelius. ‘I’m delighted. When did he make the offer?’
    ‘Some time last week,’ replied Timothy.
    Which day?’
    ‘Is it important?’ asked Timothy.
    ‘I think it might be,’ replied Cornelius, without explanation.
    The young man remained silent for some time, before he finally said, ‘Yes, it was Saturday evening, after I’d seen you.’ He paused. ‘I’m not sure Mum’s all
that happy about it. I meant to write and let you know, but as I was coming back for the auction, I thought I’d tell you in person. But then I didn’t get a chance to speak to
you.’
    ‘So he offered you the job before the auction took place?’
    ‘Oh yes,’ said Timothy. ‘Nearly a week before.’ Once again, the young man looked quizzically at his uncle, but still no explanation was forthcoming.
    Pauline placed a plate of roast beef in front of each of them as Timothy began to reveal his plans for the company’s future.
    ‘Mind you, although Dad will remain as Chairman,’ he said, ‘he’s promised not to interfere too much. I was wondering, Uncle Cornelius, now that you own 1 per cent of the
company, whether you would be willing to join the board?’
    Cornelius looked first surprised, then delighted, then doubtful.
    ‘I could do with your experience,’ added Timothy, ‘if I’m to go ahead with my expansion plans.’
    ‘I’m not sure your father would consider it a good idea to have me on the board,’ said Cornelius, with a wry smile.
    ‘I can’t think why not,’ said Timothy. ‘After all, it was his idea in the first place.’
    Cornelius remained silent for some time. He hadn’t expected to go on learning more about the players after the game was officially over.
    ‘I think the time has come for us to go upstairs and find out if it’s Simon Kerslake or Raymond Gould who becomes Prime Minister,’ he eventually said.
    Timothy waited until his uncle had poured himself a large brandy and lit a cigar - his first for a month - before he started to read.
    He became so engrossed in the story that he didn’t look up again until he had turned the last page, where he found an envelope sellotaped to the inside of the book’s cover. It was
addressed to ‘Mr Timothy Barrington’.
    ‘What’s this?’ he asked.
    Cornelius would have told him, but he had fallen asleep.

    The doorbell rang at eight, as it did every Thursday evening. When Pauline opened the door, Frank handed her a large bunch of flowers.
    ‘Oh, Mr Barrington will appreciate those,’ she said. ‘I’ll put them in the library.’
    ‘They’re not for Mr Barrington,’ said Frank, with a wink.
    ‘I’m sure I don’t know what’s come over you two gentlemen,’ Pauline said, scurrying away to the kitchen.
    As Frank dug into a second bowl of Irish stew, Cornelius warned him that it could be their last meal together at The Willows.
    ‘Does that mean you’ve sold the house?’ Frank asked, looking up.
    ‘Yes. We exchanged contracts this afternoon, but on the condition that I move out immediately. After such a generous offer, I’m in no position to argue.’
    And how’s the search for a new place coming along?’
    ‘I think I’ve found the ideal house, and once the surveyors have given the all clear, I’ll be putting an offer in. I’ll need you to push the paperwork through as quickly
as possible so that I’m not homeless for too long.’
    ‘I certainly will,’ said Frank, ‘but in the meantime, you’d better come and camp out with me. I’m all too aware what the alternatives are.’
    ‘The local pub, Elizabeth or Margaret,’ said Cornelius, with a grin. He raised his glass. ‘Thank you for the offer. I accept.’
    ‘But there’s one condition,’ said Frank.
    ‘And what might that be?’ asked Cornelius.
    ‘That Pauline comes as part of the package, because I have no intention of spending all my spare time tidying up after you.’
    ‘What do you think about that, Pauline?’ asked